


Birds of a Feather

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gabriel Has a Penis (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: Each Archangel is gifted a lower-ranked angel as a personal assistant, to use as they see fit. Aziraphale, a lesser angel, was assigned to serve the Archangel Gabriel. Aziraphale lives a peaceful if boring life filing paperwork, running errands, and assisting the Archangel with his needs. Gabriel is a good master, really. He gifts Aziraphale books now and then, hardly ever beats him, and is exceedingly easy to please with a warm, wet hole.Aziraphale is content. Somewhat. Though he does occasionally long to have adventures like the heroes in his books. Little does he know that Gabriel bringing him to Earth will end up the greatest adventure he ever has.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was MY PROMPT at the kink meme [ Here](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1579865#cmt1579865)
> 
> It was actually filled beautifully by lalaland66 [a little unsteady](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567207/chapters/53928235)
> 
> But I'd already started to write something and now I'm thinking about it again.

“Aziraphale!”

The shout snapped Aziraphale out of his stupor at once. He’d become too engrossed in reading and lost track of time yet again. “Ah, huh?” He looked up from the book, blinking owlishly, feeling a bit dazed. Gabriel was looming over him, arms crossed, a frustrated scowl on his face.

“For Hell’s sake, I’ve been calling for you,” Gabriel said, frowning down at him.

Aziraphale set the book aside quickly and leapt up, eyes wide. “Sorry, Gabriel, sir! Really, so sorry. You know how I get when I’m reading. Silly old me …” he raised his eyebrows and gave his Master a rueful little grin, old hat at the game of placating the Archangel.

“Well!” Gabriel huffed, but his annoyance was fading rapidly. He was clearly in a good mood. Lucky for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale rushed to help him out of his jacket and then squatted to untie and ease off his shoes, putting the clothing neatly aside. Gabriel snapped his fingers and pointed at the ground in front of him.

Accustomed to this signal, Aziraphale ducked his head in reverence and knelt, unfastening Gabriel’s trousers and pulling out his half-hard cock. He gave it a few warm-up pumps and lapped at the head, waiting for Gabriel to harden in his hand. Finally, once fully erect, Aziraphale closed his lips around the tip and then slid his mouth down to take the full of it into his mouth.

“Mmm, that’s nice, Sunshine,” Gabriel praised, resting his hand atop Aziraphale’s snowy hair. Aziraphale hummed and bobbed his head, slurping, sucking, and settling into the rhythm he knew Gabriel liked best. In between moans and sighs of appreciation, the Archangel talked. “I had a great day, you know. I was right. About that disagreement in the Heavenly Council I told you about, remember?”

Aziraphale made a sound of affirmation, not breaking his stride.

“You should have seen the look on Michael’s face. Hah!” He gave his hips a triumphant thrust, making Aziraphale gag on his cock.

Aziraphale kept from choking by popping off to say, “That’s wonderful, dear,” his voice hoarse.

“Don’t stop,” Gabriel ordered, and Aziraphale quickly took him in his mouth again.

Aziraphale knew exactly how the Archangel liked his cock sucked, having had thousands of years of practice. He was an expert at maneuvering his tongue just so, applying the perfect amount of pressure. He knew the precise speed at which to slide his lips over the weighty length. When he had been new, he’d been miserable at it, initially balking at the idea completely. Gabriel had disciplined _that_ out of him right away, of course, as well as training him not to accidentally use his teeth. Now, Aziraphale was a talented cocksucker. He felt neither proud nor disappointed about this fact. It was what it was. He’d long since accepted his fate, and learned that pleasing Gabriel made his life a whole lot easier. It was what he was made for, after all.

It was a great honor, really, to serve the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. Aziraphale was reminded of this often.

And it wasn’t so bad. Gabriel was kept so busy that Aziraphale was often left to his own devices. He completed his chores, ran errands, and studied. Most of all, though, Aziraphale loved to read human literature. Gabriel thought it was a silly waste of time and always complained that he never should have given Aziraphale that first stone tablet so many eons ago; that it was his own fault for allowing his servant to develop a taste for such a pointless hobby.

Aziraphale had loved that tablet, fascinated by the words carved into the flat rock, and had spent countless hours teaching himself to decipher them.

He’d begged Gabriel for more, but the Archangel had rolled his eyes and told him he was prettier on his back or his knees than hunched squinting over some dumb rock. However, over the years, Gabriel had provided scrolls, manuscripts, and books. He was generous, really, taking pleasure in giving his pet treats now and then. Sandalophon never even gave gifts to his servant, Aziraphale knew. Though many, many years sometimes passed without Gabriel gifting him a new book, Aziraphale was ever so thankful for the meager library he’d accumulated. He read them all over and over again, treating every piece with reverence, wincing any time Gabriel would pick a book up and carelessly toss it aside with a derisive snort.

Now, Aziraphale relaxed his jaw and let his mind wander while Gabriel fucked his mouth. The Archangel rambled on about his day, but Aziraphale barely heard him, thinking instead about the book he’d been reading before. _Orlando_ by Virginia Woolf. The title character was kind of like an angel, he thought, living for centuries, gender and sex something fluid and changing. Except that Orlando had _adventures_ , while Aziraphale had, well, his rooms, the white halls of Heaven, a few books, and Gabriel. Aziraphale longed to spend his eternal life living out experiences like the characters in his books. Sometimes he got so melancholy about it that Gabriel threatened to throw away his entire collection if he didn’t stop moping about.

Thankfully, Gabriel had never been _that_ unkind, no matter how angry he got with Aziraphale. Gabriel was a good master. And Aziraphale had a good station. _Really._ He took comfort in this knowledge as the Archangel thrust his hips and finally came down his throat. Aziraphale swallowed it all.

* * *

Gabriel sat sipping the coffee Aziraphale had brewed, only grimacing and complaining about the burnt beans once. Aziraphale knelt on the floor beside the Archangel. He wasn’t allowed to read while they were together like this.

“I was thinking,” Gabriel began and then paused, staring into his mug. Aziraphale glanced up at him curiously. “Of taking you down with me tomorrow.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Take me … with you? Where?”

Gabriel sighed. “You know, sweetheart, sometimes I really think you’re a little bit slow in the head. To _Earth_ of course. Remember? I need to go down there to do some work for the _plan_?” He held up his hands, face pinched as though this were obvious and Aziraphale was a moron.

“Of course!” Aziraphale rushed to say. “I’m so stupid, I forgot! I’m so sorry, sir! Oh yes, please take me with you.”

Excitement tingled down Aziraphale’s spine. It had been ages since Gabriel had taken him down to Earth. He could pretend it was an adventure just like in his books. He gave an enthusiastic little wiggle and batted his eyes at his master.

Gabriel nodded, looking pleased with Aziraphale’s gratitude. “Yeah, well, anyway. I thought it might be nice. To take you out for a little walk.”

Aziraphale nodded and leaned his head against Gabriel’s knee. Gabriel pet his hair. He really was a good master. And he was clearly still in a very good mood. Maybe it was worth the risk to ask ... ?

“Um, sir,” Aziraphale said. “Could we … I mean, will we have time to stop by a book shop while we’re down there? Please?” It had been a long time since Gabriel had gifted him a new book.

Gabriel stiffened and Aziraphale winced. Maybe not such a good mood after all.

“I don’t know. Remember how I had to call for you half a dozen times to get your attention when I came home earlier? You didn't respond until I came in here _looking_ for you. I can’t really let that go unpunished, can I?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but tremble. Whenever Gabriel promised discipline, he worried for his books more than his hide. He heavily mourned the loss of the few books Gabriel had ripped apart and burned in a fury as punishment over some transgression or another. Aziraphale wished the Archangel would have just used the cane he kept tucked behind the hall door instead of destroying precious literature.

Gabriel stood and Aziraphale’s heart sank when the Archangel picked up _Orlando_ from the side table. He held his breath, eyes already starting to water.

“I’m taking this away for the rest of the night. No more reading today. Instead, I want you to think about answering the first time I call you. Capiche?”

Aziraphale let out his breath. Only for the night. Gabriel was in a good mood after all. Though Aziraphale’s fingers itched to grab the book away from Gabriel who was carelessly bending the pages in his grip, he didn’t dare. He was getting off lightly. And he was going to get to go to Earth tomorrow! He dipped his head, a signal of acceptance of his punishment (not that he had any choice in the matter, of course.)

Gabriel appraised Aziraphale’s submissive, compliant form, looking satisfied.

“Maybe we can stop by a book shop tomorrow,” he said. Aziraphale’s face lit up. “If there’s time. And only if you’re very good.”

“Oh, I will be,” Aziraphale said, wiggling happily again. “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m really trusting you, Aziraphale. Are you sure you can handle this?” Gabriel asked, looking uncertain, and more than a bit frazzled. He kept glancing at his wristwatch.

Aziraphale nodded, clutching the fat wallet the Archangel had stuffed with a currency neither of them fully understood. He didn’t want to let his master down, but he just couldn’t stop _looking_ at everything. They stood outside the building that housed Heaven's front entrance. The streets of the city were bustling with activity. Dozens of humans were passing them every minute, cars sped by on the pavement, horns blared, children shouted, people laughed and chattered endlessly. The air smelled of an overwhelming mix of varying scents - some sour, rancid, and burning, but others delightful, sweet, and _earthy._ It was all so different from the sterile halls of Heaven.

“Focus!” Gabriel said, snapping his fingers in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Tell me again what you’re supposed to do.”

Aziraphale looked skyward as he dutifully recounted the instructions he’d been given. “I go down this staircase and exchange some money for a card at the machine. Then I get on the underground train. I ride for four exits, and get off. I go up the stairs and keep walking until I cross two streets and the tailor shop is on the right. I give him some more of the money for your suit and wait for you in the bookshop across the street.”

He’d felt confident, even excited, when he’d memorized the instructions at home in their bedroom after they’d had a quick morning fuck. But now, amidst all the crowds, he chewed on his lip, unsure about being on his own. The last time Aziraphale had been to Earth, things had been far less noisy, busy, and generally overwhelming.

“Couldn’t you just miracle the suit?” he asked, stomach beginning to roil with nerves. He tugged at the tan three piece suit he’d chosen to wear, even after Gabriel had complained it was outdated. Aziraphale was particularly fond of the checkered bow-tie he kept needlessly adjusting, though Gabriel had called it ‘lame.’

“I’ve explained this, sweetheart. It just isn’t the same.” Aziraphale suspected it also had something to do with not wanting the Archangel Michael to nag about too many frivolous miracles, but he dare not argue. Gabriel rubbed his forehead and sighed in his typical supremely irritated way. “Should I just send you home and figure something else out?”

“No!” Aziraphale cried at once. “No, please! I can do it, sir. I promise!” If he was sent home there’d be no new book, no adventure, and Gabriel might not bring him back for ages, if ever.

Gabriel studied him for a moment before checking his watch. “All right, then. Make sure you don’t dawdle and get distracted. I’d pick up the suit myself, but the guy always closes the place early, and I won’t be finished with my work yet, so - ”

“I can do it! Really! Please don’t worry, sir,” Aziraphale assured him.

“Ok. You’d better get going.” He gave Aziraphale a little push towards the staircase that disappeared down into the earth, presumably leading to the train he was supposed to ride. “And try not to wrinkle the suit!” the Archangel called after him.

Aziraphale descended, heart thrumming wildly in his chest.

Things went very well at first. Sure, Azirpahale had a little trouble with the subway ticket machine, but a kindly older woman helped him through it. The train car smelled odd and shook in an alarming manner, but he clutched the bar next to the seat and took slow, measured breaths. In and out.

He paid close attention to the signs and listened carefully to the announcements, making sure to disembark at the correct station. That was when things took a turn for the worse. He was supposed to go up the stairs now, only there were two different sets of staircases on opposite ends of the tunnel.

“Oh, dear …” he muttered to himself, dithering as humans breezed past him this way and that, bumping and jostling him in annoyance.

He had to do _something_ , so he took a chance and chose the left hand stairs, moving far more confidently than he felt. He came up out of the ground and into the sun, blinking as he crossed first one street, and then another.

There was no tailor shop. He’d clearly gone the wrong way. He took some calming breaths, shaken from his mistake. He turned, intent on making his way back when someone called to him from the alley to the right.

“Hey! Hey, Mister! Spare some change?”

Aziraphale turned and initially didn’t see anyone. He squinted, finally picking out a young, shabbily dressed boy huddled next to some bins halfway down the narrow, darkened alleyway. “Excuse me?” he called. “Are you all right?”

“I just want to buy some food. I haven’t eaten all day. Do you have any money?”

Aziraphale’s heart panged. _The poor dear._ Surely he could spare a few slips of the paper Gabriel had given him. He’d barely needed any of them to buy the subway pass. How expensive could the tailor be anyway? He approached the boy, a friendly smile on his face.

“Of course,” he said, pulling the wallet out of his pocket and rifling through the multitude of bills.

The boy's eyes widened and then flicked curiously behind Aziraphale. Half a moment later, the angel let out a sharp cry as he was shoved up against the wall, face scraping painfully against the bricks. One arm was twisted behind his back while the wallet was yanked from his hand. He squirmed and struggled fruitlessly while his pockets were rifled through. He was then shoved to the ground. He turned to look just in time to see a man and the child running out of the alley.

“Stop! Please!” he shouted, voice quavering. “Give that back!”

Someone was getting mugged in the alley. Crowley rolled his eyes. _Humans._ They seemed to sin just fine all on their own without any help from him. He glanced down the darkened passage and saw a chubby middle-aged man being roughed up while his wallet was snatched. _Poor sod._ Crowley was a soft touch for a demon.

He supposed ruining someone’s day counted as fomenting discord regardless of who it was, though. With a sigh he stuck out his foot, tripping the mugger who fell sprawling to the ground with a shout of dismay. The wallet flew from his hand, landing several feet away on the concrete. Crowley stepped on the man’s hand when he reached for it.

“I don’t think so, pal,” Crowley said.

The kid had skidded to a stop and stood uncertain on the sidewalk, clearly having no plan for this unforeseen complication. Crowley tilted his glasses down his nose, flashing eerie yellow eyes at the boy.

“You better run,” he said, sending out a wave of demonic energy. “And I suggest you keep away from this guy in the future.”

Trembling, the child nodded furiously, turned and ran off. Crowley then hauled the man up by the back of his jacket, giving him a shake.

“As for you,” he said with a growl. “If running these pathetic little scams is all you can manage, then you may as well end it all now. What do you say?” His demonic force overwhelmed the man, who swallowed hard, sweat beading at his forehead. “Ready to go to Hell?”

Crowley shoved the guy away, and he stumbled, shaking his head and glaring at Crowley. “Fuck you, bloody lunatic!” he spat before turning on his heel and racing away.

Crowley scoffed. _Guess I’ll see you in another fifty odd years, buddy._

“Oh, thank goodness!”

The middle-aged gentleman breezed past Crowley, practically diving to scoop up his wallet from the ground, and then clutching it tightly to his chest. The man’s clothes were disheveled and his white-blonde hair mussed. His plump right cheek was marred by angry red scrapes. He was breathing heavily, hairline damp and face ruddy.

“I can’t believe you fell for that trick,” Crowley said, slipping his fingers into the pockets of his fitted jeans. “You from the country or something?”

The man blinked and stared at Crowley, eyeing the fiery red hair and punk clothing.

“Oh! Um …” his wide, blue-green eyes darted from side to side. “Yes. Something like that.” He fidgeted, twitchy and nervous.

_What was up with this guy?_ Maybe it had been a mistake to intervene after all. “Well, anyway, you’re welcome.”

“Oh, of course! Thank you! Thank you so much! I’m sorry, I’m just so shaken …”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley waved his hand in the air and began to walk away down the sidewalk. “See ya around.”

“Wait! Please!”

The man grabbed Crowley by the hand and the latent celestial power that shot up his arm was like an electric shock. He snatched his hand away and whirl around with wide eyes. _An angel!_ How in Satan’s name had Crowley missed that? Crowley took several steps backwards, bracing himself for a fight, but the angel’s chin was wobbling and he looked far more ready to burst into tears than to smite a demon.

“Oh! I’m sorry! Please … I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” the angel said softly, wringing his hands. “But I’m lost. I got turned around. Could you … maybe help me find my way?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes behind his dark sunglasses. Was this some kind of trick? Surely the angel had sensed his own demonic power when they’d touched. But the pudgy angel was just staring at him, big innocent eyes pleading and desperate. He was definitely an angel; Crowley could smell it on him now that he was paying attention. Maybe there was something wrong with him. _Curious._

“Er,” Crowley began. “Sure. Where are you headed?”

The relief on the angel’s face was palpable, and Crowley couldn’t help the twinge of fondness he felt in his chest at the sweet display. He was _definitely_ a soft touch for a demon. He’d have to work on that.

“Oh, thank you! I’m looking for a tailor shop, you see …”

Crowley led the way, tensed for the angel to drop what might only be a very convincing act. However, by the time they’d made it to the tailor’s and the angel had fumbled cluelessly over payment, Crowley was beginning to think the angel really _didn’t_ know he was in the presence of a demon.

The angel appraised the wad of bills still in the wallet Crowley had rescued and then looked up at the demon with a shy smile. “I want to thank you again. Perhaps I could … buy you something. Maybe?” he sounded extremely hesitant, unsure, but also oddly determined.

“Uh, sure," Crowley was now far too curious to part ways anyway. "There’s a cafe next door. Just buy me a coffee. That's plenty Say, what’s your name, by the way?”

“Oh! Of course! It’s Aziraphale!”

_Aziraphale._ Angelic but a bit off. Much like the angel himself.

“Crowley,” he said, sticking out his hand.

He was ready for the celestial energy this time, and he felt it buzzing against his palm. He kept a sharp eye on Aziraphale, trying to parse out if he noticed anything, but the angel just smiled and gently shook Crowley’s hand, appearing none the wiser.

They sat opposite one another by the window in the cafe, Crowley sipping his black coffee and watching Aziraphale make downright obscene little noises as he devoured a slice of iced cake.

“Oh! Goodness,” the angel gushed. “This is absolutely delightful!”

He licked a bit of frosting from the tip of his finger and Crowley’s face heated. Aziraphale was just so damned _likeable_. He reminded himself that angels were pricks, the lot of them. Crowley had tried talking to or reasoning with several angels over the past six thousand years and never gotten anything more than a snide comment at best, or a smite shot his way at worst. This angel was only being nice because he somehow didn’t realize he was in the presence of a demon.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else? Something to eat? This cake is delicious, really.” Aziraphale asked. “My treat. As thanks.”

“Nah, I’m fine, really,” Crowley insisted.

“Well, I really can’t thank you enough. You can't imagine how furious my ma- er … my ... _boss_ would be if I’d lost that money.”

“Ah, so you’re some kind of PA, huh?”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “PA?”

“Personal assistant?” He raised an eyebrow. “Errand boy?”

“Oh, um, yes. I suppose it’s sort of like that.” The indulgent smile didn’t reach Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Sort of like that?” Crowley prodded, curious. He grinned. “Ah. Something more intimate, then. A _live in_ PA, perhaps?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinkened, seeming to understand the euphemism at least. He took a drink of his tea to avoid answering.

“I see.” The wheels were turning in Crowley’s brain. “What’s his name? Your, ah, _boss._ ”

“G-Gabriel.”

Crowley nearly choked. _The fucking Archangel Gabriel?_ Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Crowley had heard about Heaven’s special hierarchy post-Fall. The Archangels employed lesser angel servants - slaves, really. That would explain why Aziraphale couldn’t sense that Crowley was a demon. There must be some sort of restraint on his power.

Gabriel was a pompous, conceited idiot, and a jerk of a master, Crowley was certain. But he was important. Crowley couldn’t help but begin to scheme. Aziraphale was just so naive. If Crowley played his cards right, he could maybe spin this to his advantage.

Crowley reached across the small table and placed his hand atop Aziraphale’s. The angel looked up at Crowley, eyebrows quirking in question. Crowley grinned, all sharp teeth and smooth suavity. A little demonic miracle and the scrapes on Aziraphale’s cheeks were healed.

Aziraphale gasped, drawing his hand away quickly and placing it on his now unmarred face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish for a moment before he breathed out “How…?”

Crowley winked. “Your master’s nearly here. Can’t send you back to him all marked up, can I? Don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“But … what …. ”

“I’d ask you to give the Archangel my regards, but you’d best not. He probably wouldn’t take kindly to his pet fraternizing with a demon, after all.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and vanished right before Aziraphale’s wide, frightened eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale lay naked on his side, staring into space and idly touching the tender welts along his arse. He was alone in the bed that he and Gabriel shared; aside from those times when the Archangel kicked him out, of course, complaining that he needed space and that Aziraphale took up far too much of it. Gabriel had already gone to work that morning, leaving Aziraphale to ‘think about’ why he’d been punished.

Gabriel had been rightfully upset that Aziraphale hadn’t been where he was supposed to be down on Earth. Such a reckless lapse in judgment certainly warranted use of the cane. Gabriel was a fair Master. Aziraphale replayed the moment Gabriel had caught him in the cafe for the hundredth time in his mind ...

_“There you are!” Gabriel snapped, face contorted in rage._

_Aziraphale was still blinking owlishly, mind reeling from Crowley’s reveal and sudden disappearance. He could still feel where Crowley had placed his hand atop his own, as though it were burning. “I … I … ”_

_“Just thought you’d pop over here for a snack without me finding out, huh? Just look at you - sullying your celestial body. Ugh.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “It’s the same back home, isn’t it? No wonder you’re so fat.”_

_Aziraphale winced, but kept silent as he hung his head sheepishly._

_“Come on! You can forget about the book since I had to waste my time looking for you.”_

_It was no surprise, of course, but Aziraphale was still disappointed. Gabriel grabbed him around his upper arm and steered him out the cafe like a naughty child._

_“You’re in deep trouble when we get home, Aziraphale,” Gabriel murmured in his ear with an unnerving keenness in his voice._

Aziraphale did feel bad that he’d disappointed his master. He hadn’t _meant_ to disobey. However, though the caning had hurt, Gabriel had only given him six cuts, so he couldn’t have been all _that_ angry about it. 

That made Aziraphale feel better, since it could only mean that Gabriel didn’t know about the demon. 

Aziraphale had been in a cold, nervous sweat from the moment Gabriel found him in the cafe until they got home. The Archangel had immediately ordered Aziraphale to strip and bend over the desk while he went to fetch the cane. Aziraphale thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest, but the thrashing had been relatively mild, and then Gabriel went back to acting like everything was normal. His master was an angel who always wore his heart on his sleeve, so he couldn’t possibly know that Aziraphale had been _consorting_ with a demon. Aziraphale would have been punished much more harshly otherwise.

It was a relief. Even if keeping such a big secret from Gabriel made his belly churn. Now Aziraphale only had to worry about the demon himself. Crowley. Aziraphale tossed and turned in the bed, falling into little bursts of fitful sleep in which he had nightmares of monstrous demons devouring him. In one, a red haired half-snake half-man coiled around his body, squeezing him until he could barely breathe.

“Wake _up_!” 

Aziraphale sat up fast with a yelp, panting, his eyes wide. “Gabriel!” He wiped the sweat from his brow, his pulse slowly returning to normal as he untangled himself from the damp sheets. “Sorry, I just - ”

“Bad dream, sweetheart?” 

Gabriel wrapped a gentle arm around his shoulders, and Aziraphale, still shaking, leaned in, relishing the rare bit of tenderness. “Yeah,” he mumbled, turning and pressing his face against Gabriel’s chest, breathing in the floral musk scent of Gabriel: an ethereal mix of fresh laundry and the human cologne the Archangel fancied.

“Hey there, buttercup. Sorry I had to punish you earlier, but you really forced my hand.”

“Oh, I know!” Aziraphale rushed to confirm, desperately seeking favor and affection from his master. “I’m so, so sorry! It was all my fault! I just got distracted and - ”

“Don’t sweat it,” Gabriel interrupted, giving him a delightful squeeze, “I know I was a little mad, but I was worried sick about you when you weren’t in the bookshop. I’ve given it some thought, though, and I guess you still did a good job overall.” Aziraphale perked up. “The suit is perfect, and you followed _most_ of my instructions. It _was_ your first time down there in a while. So, since you managed not to fuck up too bad, I have another Earth job for you. Isn’t that exciting?”

It was not at all what Aziraphale had been expecting. “O-oh.”

Quite frankly, he didn’t know how to feel about it. He _should_ be thrilled, and, at first, his heart did swell at the thought of visiting Earth again, and so soon, but then the anxiety set in. Would that demon come looking for him? Surely he was safe in Heaven, but what about on Earth?

"You see, Aziraphale," Gabriel continued, "A child has just been born."

Gabriel said this with a great deal of reverence, and Aziraphale cocked his head. "You mean another son of God?"

"No! Of course not," Gabriel snorted. "This is _Satan's_ son - the Antichrist. _Things_ are happening. The Great Plan is coming to fruition. The boy will need watching over by someone on our side."

Aziraphale paled. This job was sounding far, far above his station, and he doubted his ability to see it through successfully. "A-are you sure about this, Master?” he asked, chewing his bottom lip. “Do you really think I'm the right one for the job? That I can handle it? After all, I _did_ mess up the last time down there …”

Gabriel scrunched his face and waved his hand, “Oh, it’s really not that big of a deal. I trust you. It’s a simple assignment, Aziraphale. Cross my heart. Mostly observation, maybe a little bit of mild wile thwarting, but nothing too difficult. Any major interference is strongly discouraged, in fact. And it’ll only be for a few years. Then the Antichrist will set Armageddon in motion and your job will be all done!"

“A few _years_?” Aziraphale breathed, eyes going wide. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Frightened. Small and unworthy. His vision tunneled. 

“Don’t worry, sunshine. I’ll pop in now and then to check on you and for,” he waggled his eyebrows, “conjugal visits.”

“But I … I can’t possibly … what about …”

"You’re going, so you may as well stop being difficult about it!” Gabriel snapped with a frustrated sigh before storming out of the room. 

And that was that.

* * *

Gabriel helped with the disguise, chortling over the mutton chops and false teeth Aziraphale was wearing. The ensemble made Aziraphale feel terribly embarrassed, his cheeks burning. “Are you really sure I need to wear all this?”

Gabriel wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. The more ridiculous you look, then the less serious you’ll be taken, by both humans _and_ the other side. If we’re lucky, you’ll just be ignored as the ‘kooky old gardener.'" Aziraphale furrowed his brow, wondering if Gabriel was just doing this to make fun of him. "Just be sure to change out of this before I visit. I'll never be able to get it up with you looking like _that._ ”

Aziraphale sniffed, ignoring that comment to focus on matters more important. “But I don’t know anything about gardening!”

Gabriel waved his hand dismissively. “Just miracle it all. It doesn’t matter.”

That didn’t sound like an honest, sportsmanlike way of doing things, but what did Aziraphale know? He wondered if he could find some books down on earth on the subject of gardening - it would be related to his duties, after all. The thought of possibly having unfettered access to Earth books cheered him a bit.

“Now, you know there will likely be someone from … the _other side_ down there, too, right?”

Aziraphale swallowed. He knew. And now was his chance to ask the burning question he’d kept bottled up inside since meeting Crowley.

“Yes, I remember. Can you …” Aziraphale licked his lips nervously, “Can you tell me a bit more about demons? Just to make sure I’m prepared.”

“What do you mean? I’ve already told you everything you need to know, Aziraphale. They’re disgusting. They reek of Hell. Demons are vile, lustful, _wrathful_ creatures. They aren’t like us. They deal in favors, and never play fair. But you already know all this, don’t you?”

“Right, right. Yes, of course, Gabriel. But do they ever … I don’t know, help people?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Only if there’s something in it for them. Any time a demon offers something, even if it sounds like a good deal, there’s always some loophole.” Gabriel was in full rant now, and the knot in Aziraphale’s stomach kept twisting and tangling up the more he heard. “Humans think they’re clever, summoning demons to do their bidding, but it’s always a trick. A demon will always show back up to get what it’s owed and once it’s time to pay the piper, well, it ain’t pretty.”

Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat. “A-and how many demons do you suppose there on earth at any given time?”

“Thousands I bet, like rats, spreading dissent and discord. Oh, but you don’t need to worry about them, Sunshine. Whatever demon scum Hell sends up to keep watch over the Antichrist won’t have any interest in _you_. Trust me.”

“Right, of course,” Aziraphale struggled to swallow. If there were so many demons on Earth vying for assignments, then Crowley was unlikely to show up at the Antichrist's home. Right?

* * *

After only a few weeks serving as the Dowling’s gardener, Aziraphale suspected that he was only given this position because it was one Gabriel didn’t want to handle himself. By his master's standards, the job was terribly tedious and downright dull. The Dowlings were obnoxious, the weather was mostly dreary, and the Antichrist was disappointingly normal, spending all his time sleeping and nursing, as newborns are wont to do.

Aziraphale was also terrible at gardening. He tried to follow the instructions in the books he’d procured on the subject, but he ended up having to cheat with a few small miracles anyway. He was simply too distracted to focus on the tasks, spending most of his time fretting over what Gabriel had told him about demons. Did Aziraphale owe Crowley for his help? Would the demon show up at a random time to collect on the debt? Aziraphale was terrified Crowley might pop up at any moment and steal him away to Hell where he’d be tortured. Or worse, Gabriel would find out what had happened and be furious. Facing punishment under the full wrath of Gabriel’s power would make those six little strokes of the cane seem like a tickle. 

Aziraphale cursed himself for being so trusting and foolish. He took solace in the fact that demons were just as immortal as angels, so hopefully that meant he had plenty of time to figure something out. Immortal beings rarely rushed. Or perhaps Crowley would even forget, if Aziraphale was extra lucky. 

The more time that passed, the more Aziraphale let himself relax, and his nightmares began to subside. Several months went by without any demonic presence at the Dowling residence so far as Aziraphale could tell. Perhaps Hell was already confident enough in the Antichrist that they didn’t feel the need to check in. Maybe Crowley wasn’t a very important demon and had only been on Earth that one time. Regardless, it was beginning to feel like the Dowling estate was a perfectly safe place to lie low and stay out of trouble.

Aziraphale was also enjoying basking in his newfound freedom away from Heaven and Gabriel. Other angels may have turned their noses up at the job of observing the Antichrist at the Dowlings, but Aziraphale loved the fresh air, the wildlife, the food, chatting with other workers who came onto the premises and most of all, the books. The Dowlings had a relatively vast collection, mostly for show, Aziraphale soon realized, but they didn't seem to mind at all how many Aziraphale borrowed. He spent his days outside tending the gardens, and his evenings holed up in his little cottage in the yard reading new and exciting books. It was such a shame about the world ending in fewer than eleven years. He'd never get around to experiencing all the Earth things he longed to do. If Aziraphale thought too long about it, he got ever so melancholy.

It was a rare sunny day when Aziraphale returned to the house for lunch after having spent the morning planting rows of various perennials. Though he was sweaty and covered in dirt, he was happy that he seemed to be getting the hang of this gardening thing. He peeled off his work gloves, tossing them aside, and then wiped at his brow. Just then, the back door opened, and Mrs. Dowling stepped outside with another woman.

“Oh, Brother Francis!” she called. “We’ve finally found a nanny for Warlock. Come over here and introduce yourself! Miss Ashtoreth, this is our gardener.”

Aziraphale removed his hat and beamed at them, but as Miss Ashtoreth approached, he nearly did a double take, the smile on his ruddy face faltering. The woman, far older than Mrs. Dowling, was clad in a black skirt suit, complete with red cravat, a dark hat and a bird-headed umbrella. Everything about her was severe. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was the red hair, the sunglasses, or the overwhelming demonic presence (or a combination of all three!) that gave her away, but he realized immediately that it was Crowley. So much for lying low and staying out of trouble.

Crowley-as-Nanny-Ashtoreth, however, remained perfectly composed, her lips pursed primly as she extended her hand. Shaking, Aziraphale took it and gave his head a stilted little nod, stammering out some version of _A pleasure to meet you_. Mrs. Dowling was giving him an obnoxious, knowing look, misinterpreting his nerves for attraction to the sexy new nanny, no doubt. Suddenly, though, her smirk fell and she seemed to get distracted, pulling out her phone and wandering a few paces away before typing something furiously into it.

Crowley-as-Nanny-Ashtoreth pulled Aziraphale close and hissed into his ear, “Meet me at the same little cafe as before at half past six.”

Aziraphale went cold, and his heart nearly stopped, but he nodded. What choice did he have? There was no way his weak miracles were any match against a proper demon like Crowley, and besides, Gabriel was certainly checking up on his usage. Aziraphale steeled himself. He _had_ been expecting this, after all. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later. He’d just have to deal with it himself the only way he knew how.

* * *

At quarter past six, Crowley already sat at a table in the cafe, sipping black coffee. He was dressed like himself again, dark wash skinny jeans and all. He had his fiery, shoulder-length hair pulled half up out of his face which made his snake tattoo all the more visible. A demonic warning and reminder should the angel try anything stupid. Crowley half expected him to show up with a retinue of smiting Archangels, and the image kept him on edge, tapping his foot against the floor as he waited. Surely Heaven wouldn’t try anything that bold with the Apocalypse on the horizon, though?

He’d recognized Aziraphale as the gardener right away, of course, but had thankfully kept his wits about him, hiding his shock and distracting the vapid lady of the house so he could get a chance to speak to him in private. It had been a few months since Crowley had met Aziraphale and then revealed himself to be a demon, and Crowley had assumed they would ever see each other again. Aziraphale was only a pet running an errand for his master, after all. However, maybe there was more to this angel than he initially assumed.

Was Aziraphale sent to spy on Crowley specifically? Was the other side privy to Hell’s plans? Crowley himself hardly felt privy to all of Hell's plans, if he was being honest. He knew he was meant to be influencing the Antichrist towards evil, to ensure the boy would fulfill his role when he came of age, starting the Great War between Heaven and Hell. But what was Heaven up to by sending a low-ranked _slave_ _angel_ down to Earth to watch over Satan’s son? Even though Aziraphale _seemed_ naive, Crowley knew he had to play his cards carefully if he wanted to keep the upper hand. He hadn’t kept in Hell’s favor for so many years by being careless or trusting.

The bell on the door jingled, breaking Crowley’s thoughts, and he saw Aziraphale enter the shop, thankfully alone and no longer in his Brother Francis disguise, which was a relief since Crowley didn’t think he’d be able to take the angel seriously in that ridiculous get-up. Aziraphale was dressed normally - or normally for him, Crowley supposed - in the same sort of outdated, fussy suit he’d been wearing when Crowley had first met him. Aziraphale crept into the cafe with his head down, hands clasped in front of him. When he spotted Crowley, his cheeks colored, and then he came to stand next to the table, worrying his hands.

“Oh, er, hello,” he said in a soft voice.

“You can sit down,” Crowley said, the corner of his lip quirking. He’d forgotten just how endearing this angel was. Crowley might even call him ‘cute.’ It went against every prior notion he held about angels, but Aziraphale was so starkly different from the memories Crowley had of angels: those furious, holier than thou faces when he'd been kicked out of Heaven or those snarling, smiting bastards in Eden. Since then, Crowley had managed to mostly avoid running into angels while on Earth, which suited him fine, since angels were assholes. Aziraphale, however, didn’t fit the mold, and Crowley wondered if it was specific to him or only because of his low station.

After a moment’s hesitation, Aziraphale finally did sit, perching stiffly on the edge of the chair, keeping his hands folded in his lap.

Crowley grinned, gesturing to the menu, “Peckish? Would you like to order anything?”

“Oh! N-no. No, thank you.” Aziraphale shook his head, however, his eyes darted quickly towards the display of little cakes at the counter.

“Oh, come on,” Crowley said, laying the temptation on thick. He raised a hand to summon the waitress and ordered some tea and a pastry sampler over Aziraphale’s meek objections and insistence that he wasn’t hungry.

When the food came, it only took a few minutes and several encouraging remarks from Crowley before Aziraphale gave in and began to nibble on the cake.

Crowley had never felt more pleased at a successful temptation. There was something particularly enjoyable about watching this jittery, repressed angel relax just a smidgen as he indulged in food and drink. Crowley had never much seen the appeal in gross matter consumption himself, but Aziraphale made it look _delectable_. Crowley had to give his head a little shake to focus on the matters at hand.

“So …” he began, and Aziraphale’s fork froze in midair, clattering against the plate as he set it back down with a shaky hand. _Well, damn. No use beating around the bush._ “I assume you aren’t posing as a gardener at the Dowling Estate for the thrill of it?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No.” He looked up at Crowley with more gumption than Crowley expected. “And I don’t suppose you’re dressing up like Scary Mary Poppins for no reason either.”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed, shocked and pleased to find that Aziraphale had a backbone after all. “No, you’re right. Do you know what Warlock Dowling is?”

“Yes, of course. He’s ...” Aziraphale lowered his voice, “the _Antichrist_. I’m there to observe.”

“That’s it?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Aziraphale’s gaze went sideways, and he picked up the spoon and began stirring his tea idly. “Er, well … officially, yes. But I thought it couldn’t hurt to try and impress some _goodness_ on the boy while I’m here. Maybe he won’t be evil and destroy the world, after all. Nobody really wants a war, right?”

Crowley took a deep breath. Aziraphale’s sentiment confirmed his naivety since Crowley was quite sure _everyone_ on each of their respective sides wanted the war. Everyone except Crowley, at least.

“But Gabriel just laughed,” Aziraphale continued, brow furrowing as he got surprisingly worked up. “Told me not to bother. As if it didn’t _matter_ that all the living creatures on Earth would be destroyed.” His eyes suddenly went wide, and he waved his hands in the air. “Oh! Why am I telling _you_ all this?”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley shrugged. “And I agree with you.” Aziraphale gave him a very disbelieving side eye, but Crowley leaned across the table, speaking in a conspiratorially low voice, “To be honest, I’m not all that thrilled about the world ending either.”

It wasn’t even a lie. Crowley really _didn’t_ want the world to end. A war would be a terrible bother, and he’d gotten used to spending his time on Earth, away from the dank halls of Hell. He liked music, and his Bentley, and even humans. Most of them. Of course, sympathizing with Aziraphale was also the perfect way to endear himself to the angel. Crowley needed Aziraphale to trust him so he could probe for intel.

“So, you’re, um, _boss_ , Gabriel - he doesn’t agree with you?” If Heaven wasn’t trying to influence the boy, it would make Crowley’s job a lot easier, for better or worse. He was beginning to think even Hell didn’t care what _he_ was doing up here.

Aziraphale scowled. “He just said I didn’t understand. Kept telling me any efforts to influence the boy towards good would fail, but - oh, dear, I _really_ shouldn’t be telling you this!”

“Don’t worry, Angel, it’s not like I’m gonna tattle to Heaven on you.” He winked.

Aziraphale sighed. “Right, well, it doesn’t matter anyway. We both know this isn’t why you asked me to come meet you.”

 _We do?_ Crowley cocked his head, confused, but intrigued.

“You’re here to …” Aziraphale swallowed hard, “to collect. On my debt.”

“Your what now?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb! I’m not as stupid as you may think!” Aziraphale frowned. “I’m sure you remember that you helped me the last time I was down here. So I owe you. I won’t have some demon debt hanging over my head.” Aziraphale stood while Crowley gaped up at him. “Meet me in the back room.”

Crowley watched, dumbfounded, as Aziraphale walked behind the counter and into the back of the cafe while the waitress, miraculously, paid him no mind. Dumbfounded, Crowley followed.

The back was poorly lit and smelled of an odd mix of baked goods and cleanser. Crowley squinted in the darkness from behind his sunglasses, but before he could take proper stock of his surroundings, he was pushed up against the wall. Aziraphale was pressing his trembling hands against Crowley’s shoulders. Was this a trick? Was this weak angel actually going to try to fight him in the back of a pastry shop? But then Aziraphale dropped to his knees and began to hastily unbuckle Crowley’s snakeskin belt.

Crowley was so confused he could only stand there like an idiot as Aziraphale deftly unfastened his trousers and reached in to grope for his rapidly rising cock. Aziraphale’s pudgy fingers wrapped around the length of it and began to stroke. A jolt went up Crowley’s spine, and he finally found his voice.

“W-wait, Angel -” his heart was pounding, his face hot. “Aziraphale, mmmph, y-you don’t have to do that ...”

“Nonsense, I _owe_ you,” Aziraphale said, fierce determination plain on his face.

“You really don’t …” Crowley, still reeling from this turn of events, was equal parts horrified and aroused. There Aziraphale was on his knees, pumping Crowley’s cock in his fist, and, Satan save him, Crowley was _letting_ him. “You don’t owe me,” he insisted. “It was just a favor …” Aziraphale ignored him, leaning forward to swallow the entirety of Crowley’s impressive length. Crowley slammed his head back against the wall. _Oh fuck_. “It was on the house,” he murmured weakly, eyes closed, body thrumming with arousal as Aziraphale bobbed his head, his wet lips sliding sinfully over Crowley’s pulsing flesh. 

This was wrong. Crowley couldn’t very well manipulate Aziraphale _and_ allow the angel to suck his cock, could he? No matter how much he may hate angels in general, there was something decidedly unfair about this, but _oh_ _Satan’s beard,_ where had the angel learned to do _that_ with his tongue?

Once Aziraphale was sucking his cock in earnest, Crowley could only make strangled, groaning sounds as he reached his peak embarrassingly fast. Any doubts Crowley may have been harboring about whether the Archangels used their angel servants like _that_ were quickly quashed as Aziraphale sucked him off like a pornstar. Crowley kept thinking he should put a stop to this, but before he knew it, he was shooting off into Aziraphale’s mouth who swallowed every last drop like a pro.

Aziraphale wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then tucked Crowley away before Crowley could even form a coherent thought.

“There now,” Aziraphale said, standing up and looking rather pleased with himself, the relief on his face palatable.

“Yeah, thanks,” Crowley croaked, the words sounding terribly lame. Unfortunately, it was the best he could manage under the circumstances with his body so overly warm despite his cold-blooded origins

“So …” Aziraphale said, straightening his collar, “If I’m at the Dowlings trying to influence the boy towards good and you’re, I assume, trying to corrupt him to evil, and neither of us want the the Great War, then …” Crowley could see the wheels turning in the angel’s mind, “Maybe we could just balance each other out. The boy will turn out normal, and the Apocalypse won’t have to happen at all?”

“Er, I suppose,” Crowley cocked his head, considering every angle. It didn’t sound like a bad plan, actually. In fact, it allowed him to achieve his ultimate desire to stop Armageddon while remaining relatively blameless in Hell’s eyes. Not finding any downside, Crowley nodded slowly. “That arrangement sounds good to me.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Great! Well, I suppose we’ll be working together for some time, guiding the boy with our opposing influences and all!” He smiled and held out his hand which Crowley took and allowed Aziraphale to shake firmly. It felt like a rather ridiculous gesture so soon after Crowley’s cock had been in Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Still looking pleased, Aziraphale glanced towards the cafe. “We’d best not leave together, though, don’t you agree? I’ll go first. See you around!”

By the time Crowley nodded, Aziraphale had already breezed out, and Crowley soon heard the faint jingle of the shop door signaling his departure. Crowley barked out a laugh. He’d gotten a blow job _and_ an answer to the Apocalypse problem all in one minor temptation. It had been a long shot, buttering up an Archangel’s servant, but it really seemed to be working in Crowley’s favor. Though he knew their arrangement would be to both of their benefits, there was still a small, niggling feeling in the back of his mind that one might call _guilt_. Was it really fair to use Aziraphale like this? The angel was so naive, but surely nothing bad would happen from working together. It was best for both of them. Crowley didn’t like to use the word ‘opportunist’ about his approach to his job, but he had always been pragmatic about his station. With a full body shake, he tamped down on any hesitant feelings, and allowed himself a moment to rejoice. Perhaps the world didn’t have to end after all!

With that thought lifting his spirits, he walked out of the cafe whistling a happy, tuneless melody.

**Author's Note:**

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